Saturday, August 18, 2012

It's not everyday I attend slaughters. It's just one of those events I
rarely find myself at. They aren't like concerts or baseball games, you
don't buy tickets, grab yourself a cold one and find your seat. But
this morning some friends were gracious enough to let me attend their
"event" (if such a moniker fits) and shoot some images for an upcoming
project I'm working on.

Dan greeted me warmly as we forewent the obligatory handshake due to his
blood stained hands. The spatter on his face was the first indication I
was in the right place. The crew was already hard at work.

The scene before me was not what I expected. It was tidy, orderly,
everyone doing a job. The slaughter itself was fastidious, timely, an
exercise in efficiency aided by modern technology - not the 'swinging
axe, chicken running around with it's head cut off' stereotype that most
of us probably envision.

A slaughter, whether it's of a single animal or many, as was the case
today, is a necessary action to procure what most of us take for
granted: a neatly wrapped chicken breast in a supermarket, conveniently
affixed with a recipe for easy preparation at home in the comfort of our
kitchens.

This is the reality. Something we're far removed from in our modern
society. This is where it comes from. Work is involved. Blood is
involved. Killing is involved. Most of us will never see it. It's not
disgusting. It's not repugnant. It's life - and death. A reminder of
our distant past, one where killing was a way of life. One where death
was a necessary and visible component of the sustenation and
proliferation of our own species.

This morning chickens gave their lives for the betterment of humanity. There does not exist a more honorable death than that.